Learning How to Die
by Jayne Foyer
Summary: It was the summer of 1990, and it was also the first time John Winchester had his son kill something.


It was the summer of 1990, and the boys were young enough that usually John would have left them with a babysitter, but it was just for a night or two and he didn't have any time, and besides, Dean was just about at that age where he had to start taking on some real responsibility. He'd left Dean with very specific instructions, and a shotgun hidden in the cabinet. John would never trust any other child Dean's age with a shotgun in the cabinet, but then again, he hadn't raised Dean to be _any other child._

Sam was just at that age where he kept trying to read everything he could get his hands on. His older brother found it extraordinarily irritating, especially when little Sammy called out, "Dean!" every five minutes because he didn't understand what a certain word meant. Dean had tried giving him bogus explanations at first, but after a while Sam had gotten pretty suspicious, so Dean had relented and just answered the dumb kid's questions. Dean couldn't quite explain why it bothered him so much, but he didn't like to see Sam's face when he was slowly going through pages and pages of words he shouldn't be able to understand. He read things that Dean had never read. He read things that Dean had never _tried_ to read, and Dean didn't like it.

It was for this reason that, at some point or another, Dean found himself stealing his brother's book and holding it high above his head. Sammy was beside himself, almost in tears, jumping up and down trying to reach the damn book, but Dean just laughed and laughed. After a few moments he began to feel bad about what he was doing, and just when he was going to give up and hand the book back to his brother, the door opened.

John Winchester stood in the doorway. Dean lowered the book immediately and handed it roughly to his brother, horrified of what his father would say if he had seen how childish Dean was being.

But instead, John just said tiredly, "Come on, boys, let's get in the car."

Dean went straight to the bed, grabbing the bag that contained everything he owned in the world, but John interrupted him. "No, no," he said. "We're not leaving just yet. We'll come right back. Come on."

Dean blinked and looked at Sam, who was staring at their father with wide eyes.

"Come on," said John again, and Sam ran towards the door and took hold of his father's hand tightly. John didn't pull his hand away, but instead turned and headed towards the Impala in the parking lot, leaving Dean to lock the motel room door behind them.

Sam hopped in the backseat excitedly, and Dean slid, with a feeling he couldn't name or shake, into the front seat beside his father. "Where are we going, Daddy?" asked Sam, sticking his fingers into the ash tray, trying to retrieve the toy soldier he'd stuck down there less than a year ago.

"There's something I gotta show you boys," said their father, driving out of the parking lot, heading out of town.

"Is it a monster?" asked Dean, and he couldn't keep a hint of hopefulness out of his voice.

"No," replied John, a pained smile on his face. "Definitely not."

Dean felt a little let down. "A spirit?"

"Nope," said John, and there was something almost like a laugh in his voice. "I don't think either of you are ready for that just yet."

"I am!" protested Dean. "Dad, I'm _eleven years old_, I gotta be out there helping you, I hafta gank some evil sons of bitches, I-"

"Hey," interrupted John, shooting a glance towards his son. Dean silenced. "Watch your language."

Dean deflated. "Sorry sir," he mumbled. He slid down in his seat and peered out the window. It was getting dark out.

By the time John stopped the car, Sam was asleep in the backseat, his little head pressed against the cold window. Dean, who was dozing off himself, started when the engine silenced. John said, "Get your brother up," and then left the car.

Quickly, Dean exited the car and scurried around. Unable to suppress a grin, he opened the door that his brother had been leaning on. Sam all but fell right on his face, and just as he was about to let out a loud wail at being bullied by his brother, Dean clamped a hand over his mouth. "Shh," he breathed. "You have to be _quiet_, or else Dad won't ever take us anywhere ever again. Okay, Sammy?"

Sam nodded, his eyes shining with excitement. Dean let go of Sam's mouth and pulled him up, but when he did, Sam wouldn't let go of his hand. Dean almost shook out of his brother's grasp, then he remembered back at the hotel room; Sammy had taken hold of their father's hand, and John hadn't pushed the boy away. So Dean tightened his grip on his brother's hand while they waited hesitantly by the side of the car. The car had headed down a little road that went into the forest, and tall trees surrounded them now. John had disappeared, but a few moments later he reappeared among the pines.

"Come here," he called to his boys, beckoning for them to follow him. Dean hurried to catch up with his father, dragging Sam along with him. John led them to a little clearing where, to Dean's surprise, something that looked like a huge animal with terrifying horns was lying on the ground, panting heavily. Dean approached the thing; Sammy let go of his hand, terrified.

"What is it?" asked Dean, with wide eyes. "A werewolf? A rugaru?"

John almost chuckled. "It's a deer, Dean."

"A deer?" repeated Dean, looking up at his father, confused. "Is it...a monster deer? Is it like a vampire deer or something?"

"No," laughed John. "It's just a deer."

Dean looked at the thing curiously. "Why'd you bring us out here to see a dead deer?"

John paused. Then he said, "Because it's not dead, Dean."

Sam was still back by the edge of the trees, biting his nails. "Daddy," he called. "Daddy!"

"Hold on just a second, Sammy," John called back. "Dean." Dean turned to look up at his father. John held out a gun towards him. Dean looked at it, a bewildered expression on her face. "You're gonna kill it, Dean," said John lowly. "I want you to shoot the deer."

"What?" asked Dean, a flicker of fear crossing his face. "Why?"

"You're gonna have to shoot much worse things," said John. "Listen to me. Take the gun. Wait until your brother can see. And then shoot the animal."

"What?" asked Dean again. He shot a glance towards his brother. "Why does Sammy have to look?" he asked, feeling something like anger in the pit of his stomach. "Listen to him, he's crying like a baby! God, shut _up_, Sammy!"

Dean's voice rang out through the clearing. Sam's cries quietened slightly. Dean instantly regretted it.

"Take the gun, Dean," said John tiredly.

Dean did so. John headed back to his youngest son, and scooped Sam up in his arms. Then he carried the boy back towards the animal, right up to the thing's face, with the gigantic, terrifying antlers and the ragged, laboured breathing. Sam's cries got louder.

"Shh, shh, shh," muttered John quietly. "What are you crying for, Sammy? Hmm?"

Sam buried his face in his father's shoulder. Dean and John could just barely make out the word, "_Scary_."

"Scary?" asked John. He laughed. "Sammy. Look at me. Look at me."

Dean stood six feet away from his father and brother, holding the gun. Sam raised his head just enough to look his father in the eyes.

"This animal," said John, staring straight into his son's green eyes, "is dying. In ten minutes it's gonna be dead. There is nothing to be afraid of here. Do you hear me, son? You hear me?"

Sam took his hands and began to rub his eyes. He was nodded. "Okay," he said. "Okay, Daddy."

"Okay, _sir_."

"Sir," repeated Sam, and John took his son's hands and pulled them away from Sam's eyes.

"Now let me tell you something, boys," said John, louder now, because he was speaking to both his sons. "There's death in the air here, ain't there? You can feel it, right, Dean?"

Dean, petrified, nodded slowly.

"You're scared of it?"

Dean refused to nod, but the look on his face told John everything.

"You shouldn't be," continued their father. "I swear to God boys, I will promise you here tonight, there is nothing less frightening than death." He paused. "You're gonna have to kill a lot of things." He looked straight at Dean. "I want you to think of death as your friend. It can't hurt you. By the time it's got a hold of you, nothing can hurt you ever again. You understand?"

Dean's knees were shaking, but he managed to stammer, "Y-yes, sir."

"Now," said John, "I want you to shoot this animal, Dean."

Dean stared at his father with wide eyes. He looked at the great, shaggy beast on the ground. "Dad..."

"Kill it, Dean," said John. "You ain't in any danger but it's gonna die anyways. Sometimes you just gotta pull the trigger, son. Whether it's a monster or a dying man, you shoot it, you stop it, you make the world a better place."

"Dad-"

"Dean, listen to me-" Sam let out a wail and buried his face in his father's chest. John pulled him away and set him on the ground. "Sammy, look at me," he said loudly, over Sam's cries. "Look at me right now, Sam."

Sam ceased his crying once again and looked his father in the eye.

"Look at that animal, Sammy," said the older man. "You think it's hurting?"

Sam looked at the stag, then back at his father. "Yes...sir..."

"How do we stop it hurting, Sammy?"

"H-hospital?"

"Wrong," said John harshly. "You see that blood, Sammy? That means you can't stitch it up. Bandages won't work. This poor creature's gonna die, and the least we can do is put it out of its damn misery, _do you hear me?_"

He looked up at his older son ferociously. Dean, shaking all over now, replied with a quick, "Yes sir!"

"Dean," said John. "If I was hurt like that. If I was bleeding and you knew I was gonna die. What would you do?"

Dean knew the right answer, but he wanted to believe that he was wrong. "C-call Bobby," he said, feigning confidence.

John shook his head. "Dean," he said again. "You tell me what you would do right now or I swear to God I'll take that gun away from you and never give it back."

"Shoot you," said Dean, before his father even finished his sentence. "If you were hurt bad, I would shoot you."

John looked at his son. "You promise?"

"I – I promise."

John's gaze hardly wavered. Sam whimpered slightly. "What about your brother?" asked John, quieter now. "Would you shoot Sammy, if you had to?"

Dean blinked. He looked down at his little brother, who was grasping their father's jacket uselessly, his face covered in snot and tears. He looked back into his father's eyes. He saw nothing but icy steel determination there. Dean breathed deeply. He replied, "Of course I would. In a second."

John didn't take his eyes off Dean, but something changed slightly. He stopped pushing Sam away, and the child looped his arms around his father's neck instantly, and clung onto his chest. John stood up, his gaze still locked with his eldest son's. He wrapped his arm around Sam. For a second, Dean thought that he should drop the gun and run to his father and wrap his own arms around the two of them. For a moment, for some absurd reason, tears threatened to fall. And in that moment, Dean realized he had been lying. He could never shoot his father. He would _never_, _never_, _ever_ hurt Sammy, no matter what. Dean Winchester had no desire to rebel against his upbringing, but he allowed himself just this one silent knowledge, this wordless victory over his father's law.

John took a few steps back, then said, "One day you're gonna have to kill things wearing human faces, Dean. Everybody's gotta start somewhere. Kill the damn deer."

Dean looked back at his father. John hardly even bothered to return the look this time. He seemed tired, carrying his youngest son delicately in his arms.

Dean took the gun and turned back towards the animal, and he didn't see John gently planting a hand over Sam's eyes as a single gunshot rang out loud and sharp through the clearing, and the ragged breathing of the wounded animal silenced.

* * *

><p><strong>Sooo...my first Supernatural fanfiction. John Winchester is such an interesting character. I'm still not sure where I stand on that family dynamic. But I definitely wanted to put a lot into here. I hope that I did okay, trying to capture Dean's complex and the fact that John knew so much and the fact that John is more than a little bit crazy and, well, yeah. I hope I did okay. <strong>

**Review, maybe? :)**

**title comes from a Leonardo da Vinci quote; "While I thought that I was learning how to live, I have been learning how to die."**


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